Would That I Could Have My Dreams
by Mika Lero
Summary: Behind every great man, is a great woman. Unfortunately for history, Salazar Slytherin's is always close and yet eternally out of his grasp.  Written for an old fic exchange.


**Would That I Could Have My Dreams**

She felt eyes on her back. It wasn't ever very difficult to know when he was watching her, secluded in a quiet and largely hidden corner of the library. The soft hair at the nape of her neck prickled and stood on end. The muted scratching of her quill - the only sounds to be heard - ceased, and the air was oppressively silent. Turning her head slightly to the side, she cut a glance behind her, breath slightly baited. He did not wait for a verbal acknowledgment of his presence before sliding out from his hiding place and moving towards her.

Long, elegant fingers rested on her shoulders. She tensed a moment, hand twitching around the quill before letting it fall with the softest sound to the table. Her shoulders relaxed underneath his light caresses. Allowing his hands ghost over the pale skin of the front of her neck, he lifted the blue linen veil that covered her dark hair and set it down around her shoulders.

"It is unlike you to be so easily distracted from your work, Rowena." he said, his voice low and smooth. His lips curled ever so slightly at the corners as he brushed his fingertips over the thick braids that held her locks together. It was only for another moment or two that she allowed his touch. Her shoulders stiffened quickly and she ducked her head away from his hands.

"Not here Salazar. You know better than that." she chastised, placing the veil over her hair again. His hands withdrew, and he took a step back, inclining his head in acknowledgment.

"Forgive me, my lady. I am only concerned." he said, the tone of his voice somewhat more distant and removed than before.

Rowena sighed, closing her eyes and rubbing her face tiredly. Words on the scattered pieces of paper in front of her had begun to blur, and even the braziers scattered about the room could not ward off the nighttime cold. Salazar appeared contemplative for a moment before stepping towards her again and extending his hand.

"Come, Rowena. The hour is late."

He was always quite concise in his speech, though often more so around Rowena, even to the exclusion of clarity. For a moment she thought of brushing him away with a wave of her hand, but she was exhausted and she knew Ihe/I knew. Her brow ticked in minor irritation as she took his offered hand. The scrolls and texts would be there in the morning.

"Too observant by half, you." she muttered under her breath as she fell into step beside him. Salazar chuckled, releasing her hand.

"It hardly takes a measure of brilliance to understand something is wrong, Rowena."

She cut him a sideways glance. "I am tired Salazar. It is as simple as that, I promise you."

Now it was Salazar's turn to look at her with a measure of disbelief and mock offense. "Seven years it's been since we've come to know one another Rowena. I am wounded that you would lie to me." His dramatic attitude was intentionally farcical, and she could not help but laugh a little. It had been too long since they'd taken the time to enjoy one another's company to the exclusion of the others. The castle had been peaceful for longer than usual, and was likely to blame. They sought refuge in one another when disagreements with their old friends became unbearable.

Needless to say it was Salazar doing the seeking far more often than Rowena.

Another tired sigh, and she let her gaze wander off to some unseen point in front of her. "It's the time of year." she murmured finally.

_The night air was crisp, and smelled of newly sprung life. The sound of unnumbered drums all beating in time echoed in the air. The bonfires roared, and the entire scene was other-worldly…_

"Your spring festivals?" he inquired with raised brow. Rowena nodded in silent affirmation. Salazar blinked and after a few moments of thinking, he seemed to shrug off whatever idea he had been contemplating initially. "I don't understand you at times my dearest. A large enough number of our pupils still celebrate the first of May, why don't you join them?"She shook her head, a sharp edge to her tone. "It isn't the same. The families still following the Old Religion are fewer every year. What was sacred and solemn once has become little more than an excuse for drunk, debauched revelry."

Salazar's face seemed to twist unpleasantly at the mention of religion. It was a subject whose existence he would rather ignore than acknowledge on any level. "It does not seem to bother Gryffindor nearly so much. You and he are of the same stock." he said with a light smirk beginning to play over his expression towards the end.

Rowena looked at him sharply. "Godric is a Briton. The northern Highlands are _my home."_

By now they had stopped in their walk, Salazar trying to contain his mirth. It was entirely too amusing - the intensity of Rowena's patriotic nature. After a moment, her cheeks colored red and she turned away from him, intent on continuing alone.

"Roman _twit_."

Salazar put on a look of hurt. "You wound me again my lady. I am _several_ generations removed from Roman blood I'll have you know." There was a little bit of a glint in her eyes and a twitch at the corner of her mouth.

"Would it suit you better if I called you a Saxon bastard?" The amused look on his face fell a bit, and she laughed.

"More accurate at least." he scoffed. "Though I would hope you remember my parents were married at the time of my birth." Rowena shook her head and continued to smile. Gesturing in front of her, she wanted to move forward again. "Shall we continue on then?"

Salazar tilted his head to the side, tapping his fingers almost idly on his chin. After a moment he held out his arm. "Only if you would grant me the…" _Honor…pleasure…joy?_ "privilege…of escorting you properly?"

_The young man extended his arm, his smile broad and exuding a cocky charm. "Would you grant me the privilege, Lady Ravenclaw?"_

_A much younger Rowena, not many years out of girlhood, eagerly placed her arm in his and laughed. Her companion's smile broadened even further as he pulled her in for a dance. The chill of the air was offset by scattered bonfires, and the wild, jubilant drumming - along with the dancing that accompanied them - was enough to appall or disconcert even the most liberal of their English companions._

_He twirled her around, her loose, dark hair flying wildly about and her dark eyes sparkling with delight. Blue eyes returned her look with an open, frank intensity. The smell of burning wood, the sights and sounds of ritual, and the feeling of being lifted up in his arms made her dizzy with delight and contentment._

_What little light had been left in the sky before had faded, the stars shone brightly, and the celebration was far from over. The pair retreated to a quieter, more secluded place. He scooped her up and carried her, in a purposefully dramatic fashion. Her fingers twined in his tawny colored hair and they exchanged sweet kisses, and adoring, admiring, heated looks. The only sound to pass between them now was the occasional bout of laughter - words having fallen to the wayside since his original invitation._

_For such a broadly built and rough looking man, she marveled at how gently he laid her down on a softer patch of ground, and how softly he ran his hands up the sides of her waist, gazing at her as if she were the loveliest creature he'd ever set his eyes upon._

_He moved over her, caressing her hair as he bent his head down to kiss her neck. Her hands ran up his arms and rested on his shoulders. She was filled with a giddy, bubbling sensation. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she kissed his cheek."Godric…" she murmured, his name escaping in an unguarded sigh. He lifted up his head and looked down at her, a very brief twinge to his brow. He held his finger to her lips, with a barely discernable shushing noise. This was the wrong time and place for words.  
_

He pressed her roughly against the wall with his body, his tall, but narrow frame still towering and dominating over hers. She only had brief and occasional gasps of air as he plundered her mouth with his. It was still cold, and there were puffs of fog at each brief break in their contact for air.

Her entire body felt as if it had been lit on fire. "Salazar…" she managed to gasp, his grip on her arms so tight as to be painful. Recognizing that in her voice, he quickly released her and drew back as if burned. Rowena took the momentary respite to catch her breath. Salazar's eyes betrayed the ferocity of his arousal, and there was the slightest tremor in his hands as he restrained himself in reaching out for her again.

She let him take her hands, and there was a twinge in her middle she brushed aside. There was nothing she had to fear from him, and there was hardly a lack of genuine affection, feeling, or attraction. Still there was the vaguest feeling of hollowness, whose cause was elusive. He kissed her neck and began to slide the dress off her shoulders. It was all beginning to blur together, perhaps for the better. Now was hardly a convenient time for second thoughts.

What lingering doubt she had was forced aside as Salazar methodically and efficiently - as he was in nearly everything he did - stripped them both of their clothing. Though in all else she was fiercely independent and not one to be cowed or controlled in any fashion, she did not protest the level of control he now seized. She laid down on the bed, and he quickly followed her.

He placed a tender kiss on her shoulder, ghosting his hands over the red marks on her arms in a much gentler and somewhat apologetic fashion. Rowena let her fingers graze over what bit of his skin she could reach. She smiled softly and briefly. "Apology accepted." she said with a deliberate intonation.

His brow furrowed and he looked at her crossly, though it was more like a scolded child's surliness than any true displeasure. Bringing a hand to one of her breasts, he squeezed and kneaded the pale flesh. "You are rather intolerable at times, you are aware?" he said in a low voice before encircling her other nipple with his lips. Rowena's eyes closed and she moaned. His hips were pressed against hers and she could feel his hardened flesh. "And yet…" she began, gasping lightly as his hand left her breast and traveled down her belly to dip teasingly into her moist and dripping crevice. "…you continue to return."

"You fascinate me." he replied. His thumb circled over that sensitive bundle, and he kissed down the midline of her chest to her belly. Stretching out over her again, he withdrew his fingers, much to her disappointment. He stroked her thigh a moment before hooking his hand under one of her knees to raise it up. "After all these years, you can still surprise me…" he continued, whispering in her ear. "I am not myself with you and it infuriates me."

"Salazar?"

"Yes?"

"Stop talking."

Salazar was more than happy to oblige her in that. Positioning himself, he entered her with a swift thrust, pausing only briefly before setting a rapid pace. She bit her bottom lip to keep from moaning so terribly loudly. A sharp intellect was not his only generous endowment or talent.

Again and again he buried himself inside of her, jaw clenched and shoulders stiff with the effort of maintaining some measure of composure. Even in moments like this one, he fought such frank and bare openness. It made Rowena's heart ache, and she treasured those rare moments when he did those shields.

He continued to lavish attention on her lips, neck, and breasts. A sort of smug expression flickered over his face when she began to shudder and moan, her peak overtaking her. His was not much further off. He bucked against her sharply one final time, burying his face into her neck and hissing a long string of Parseltongue into her ear. It never failed to send a shiver down her spine.

Rowena's hands and arms laid across his shoulders and cradled his head against her. It was a long moment took to recover themselves. After a time, she opened her eyes to the ceiling and blinked, realizing he had not yet moved or spoken. She stroked his scalp lightly, tilting her head to press her cheek to his hair. He must have sensed she was about to speak, and spoke himself before she had a chance to. Low and soft, she barely heard him.

"Marry me."

Her heart nearly stopped, and suddenly she felt cold. "What?"

Salazar lifted his head, his expression retaining his normally controlled demeanor. But Rowena had looked into them long enough to tell the uncertainty and even fear his eyes betrayed. He was in a vulnerable position, and loathed it. "You understand me as no one else does. Your council and comfort are invaluable to me."

He hesitated, but continued when Rowena opened her mouth to speak. "I love you." he said quickly, grimacing briefly as if he had botched or bumbled such an admission in an unspeakable way. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the growing heaviness in her chest. Sensing his slipping chances, he cupped her face in both his hands and kissed her cheek. "With you by my side, there would be no barrier I could not overcome and conquer."

Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes to look at him, difficult as it was. "You are one of my dearest companions, and I will always be there to stand beside you. But… I cannot. And you know why."

Even before she finished, his expression had begun to harden. Shifting his position, he moved to lay on the bed beside her, pulling her to his chest. He cursed the loyalty she had to the laws of her people. He cursed the inflexibility of his own, and their continued presence in his nature despite his best efforts at ridding himself of them. They were not insurmountable obstacles in his opinion and some bitter part of him wondered if there was not some other unspoken reason. But Rowena was not to be swayed and he had long ago learned there was no forcing her in anything.

"Will you then at least permit me the private enjoyment of your company?"

A sad smile crossed her lips as she listened to his heartbeat. "Always."

_The wedding had been a beautiful, loud, and joyous affair. Wine and ale flowed freely, and there was no end to the varied abundance of the banquet table. Though she smiled and laughed, and by all outward appearances was overjoyed for her friend, Rowena felt her heart would break at any moment. It pierced her, sharp and cruel every time she looked at them. Such pain was compounded with guilt. Helga was beautiful and happy, and Rowena could not fault her for that. Even Godric she was reluctant to blame. Their encounter was not binding, and she had known that. Still, she had foolishly held out hope that there would be another; that it would continue. _

_At the first opportune moment, she escaped to a quieter place in the castle. Books had always been there for her to provide unconditional solace. She did not worry that her disappearance would be considered odd. Rowena Ravenclaw was not known to be a particular admirer of large and noisy crowds. She sat at the long, roughly carpentered table and sighed. Her fingers ran idly over the leather cover of a book, her chin resting in her other hand._

_There was only the briefest of tingling on the back of her neck before she heard his voice from a less brightly lit corner. _

_"You seem troubled my lady."_

_Turning quickly, she presented a false, tired smile. "Salazar…you startled me."_

_Moving to his feet, he stepped from the shadows and bowed his head a mite. "My apologies Rowena. That was not my intent. " He looked at her and considered a moment. "Is there anything the matter?"_

_A pause, and then she shook her head. "No. Just a foolish dream."_


End file.
